“Have you ever been so tired, you can’t fall asleep?” Ellie asks, in the darkness as we lie in bed.
“All the time,” I admit. “Sometimes I’m afraid to fall asleep, and it keeps me up no matter how hard I try to relax.”
“Why?” Her voice is hushed, like she’s worried about waking someone up even though we’re the only ones home.
I turn to face her, propping my head up on my palm. “Bad dreams. Bad memories.”
The blankets rustle, and I feel her body reposition, mirroring mine. “You never told me you have bad dreams.”
Ever since I started sleeping at Ellie’s I haven’t had one. “It’s been a while, but sometimes I have one creep up. Same one every time.”
She swallows. “What happens in the dream?”
I don’t like talking about it, but there’s a layer of comfort in the darkness. If I can’t see anything, it makes it less real. And if there’s anyone who’s ever going to know all of me, it’s her.
“The shooting, but in my dream I shoot him, and I always wake up before knowing if I killed him or not.”
Her hand reaches out, smoothing over my cheek. I can only see her eyes as they stare back at me. “That sounds terrible.” She pauses for a moment. “Is that how you would’ve preferred it went? Do you wish you’d killed him?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Never. He was just a kid who made some bad decisions. I’m not sure I could live with myself if I’d killed him—or even shot him in the first place, justified or not.”
She sighs, moving against me. “Maybe that’s why you wake up. Your brain is protecting you.”
“Maybe,” I admit.
Her arm drapes across my stomach as she cuddles up to me. I immediately pull her closer.
“You should probably talk to someone,” she murmurs against my chest. “Might help.”
I let out a sigh. “I know.”
She’s quiet for a long moment—so long I’d think she might’ve drifted to sleep, but her breathing isn’t even enough.
“I’m sorry.” My hand glides up and down her arm softly. “I’m sorry for getting angry and raising my voice. I was just scared—scared of all the bad things that could’ve happened to you.”
She blows out a humorless laugh. “It’s not like you were wrong. It was a stupid move on my part.”
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t. Nothing about you is stupid. None of this is your fault.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t still feel like it is.”
“This was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Me trying to control everything—be everything, and not giving you the space to make your own choices and mistakes.”
She twists her neck, resting her chin on me. “You weren’t controlling of me, it wasn’t like that. I think I just got too used to doing everything with you, I didn’t know how to do anything alone.”
A beat of silence stretches between us before she takes a breath. “I don’t feel like that this time, though. I’m more independent, sometimes too independent, depending on who you ask.” She laughs quietly. “I’m not worried about not beingable to function without you. Icanlive without you, I just don’t want to anymore.”
“I never want to again. It wasn’t great.”
“What was it like? When you were working in California? What did you do besides work?”
“Exist.”
She snorts. “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”
“It’s true,” I defend. “I mostly worked, did a lot of overtime. Sometimes I would hang out with the guys, but mostly it was just me. Alone.”
“I bet you left a string of broken hearts down there.”
